


Feeling Fervid as a Flame

by Lalalli



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drinking Games, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, Non-SHIELD AU, zero angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 02:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9215384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalalli/pseuds/Lalalli
Summary: Jemma’s parents are overly invested in her love life.  Fitz is willing to do pretty much anything to prove a point.  This somehow results in Jemma’s least favorite person becoming her parents’ favorite person.  This is totally a normal thing that happens to totally normal people.Prompt from amazingjemma: “You are my nemesis but I have no choice so I had to ask you to be my boyfriend\girlfriend because my parents want to meet my significant other.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amazingjemma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amazingjemma/gifts).



> Title from "What Is This Feeling?" from Wicked

Jemma Simmons wouldn’t say that Leopold Fitz is her nemesis, exactly. That makes him sound like an evil mustache-twirling villain, and Fitz might be a pain in the ass, but he’s not _evil_. He doesn’t even have a mustache to twirl. And sure, most of the time, their relationship could be described as antagonistic, but they’re not mortal enemies or anything.

And look, it’s not her fault that he’s still sore about graduating second in their class at uni and tries to salvage his ego by attempting to disprove everything she says. She would be able to tolerate it more if she only saw him at reunions, but he’s _everywhere_. He works in her lab, lives in her apartment complex, and gets drinks on weekends with her friends at their favorite bar.

Fine, so maybe they’re his friends too, by virtue of the fact that his roommate is dating Jemma’s roommate. But that doesn’t mean that they’re friends with each other. Not when he’s just so _wrong_ about _everything_.

And it’s one thing to argue with her about switching over to Americanisms (“Calling them chips just confuses everyone involved.”) or whether sorting students into Hogwarts houses is a form of apartheid (“Separate but equal is a _myth_!”), but arguing with her about _her parents_? That’s another thing entirely.

“I’m not saying you’re wrong - I’m saying you’re interpreting it wrong!” Fitz insists.

“There’s no other way to interpret it!” Jemma shouts. She tends to get a bit loud after a couple drinks.

Fitz rolls his eyes. “Think about it, Simmons - you have two doctorates. Why would your parents be any less proud of you just because you’re not dating anyone?”

“Because if I’m not dating someone, then I’m not close to getting married, and if I’m not close to getting married, then I’m not close to having babies, and if I’m not close to having babies, then they’re never going to be grandparents because, and I quote, my ovaries aren’t getting any younger.” Plus, they’re worried about her work-life balance, but that’s completely beside the point. She has a solid group of friends that she sees once a week. Her social life is completely fine. And while Fitz apparently agrees that her social life is acceptable, what isn’t acceptable is that Fitz won’t accept that her parents don’t accept that Jemma has accepted that she is never going to be a social butterfly.

“Women _are_ under more pressure to have babies,” Daisy agrees.

Jemma raises her eyebrows and gestures excitedly towards Daisy, practically jumping out of her seat. “See? I’m right.”

Fitz casually takes another sip of his beer, then leans forward. “From an objective perspective -”

“ _Objective_?” Jemma repeats incredulously. “You haven’t even met my parents - how can you be objective?”

“Okay, but if I did meet them -” Jemma hates that Fitz is always using that stupid calm and reasonable tone of voice, as though his arguments are based on fact when he doesn’t even _have_ all the facts. And she knows that he only does it so that Jemma will look unreasonable in comparison, which is ridiculous because Jemma is completely reasonable. She’s the most reasonable person she knows.

“We can make that happen,” Jemma interrupts, her chin tilted up in defiance. “I’m having lunch with them tomorrow - you can come along.” Jemma mentally congratulates herself for thinking on her feet. It’s the perfect solution that will let Fitz see for himself that she’s right and he’s wrong.

“Jemma,” Bobbi says warningly.

“No, yeah, that’s a great idea,” Fitz agrees, with inflated bravado in his voice and a steely glint of determination in his eyes. “Then I can get proof that you’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

Hunter nudges Mack. “Who has the official Fitzsimmons drinking game rules? Aren’t we supposed to take two sips whenever they drunkenly come up with a really bad idea?” Daisy and Bobbi start rummaging through their purses.

Jemma ignores Hunter. “Yeah, I’ll tell them we’re dating and then _you_ can field all the questions about why I’m not married. Take the pressure off of me, for a change.”

“Found it,” Daisy announces, holding up a folded sheet of paper. She passes it to Hunter.

“You mean field all the totally normal questions with zero hidden subtext that all caring parents ask their children?” Fitz shoots back. “Not a problem.”

Hunter looks up from the paper. “It’s one shot.”

Jemma fishes her phone out of her purse. “Great. I’ll just text my parents that my _boyfriend_ is coming so they can change our reservation.”

Bobbi sighs heavily. “I’ll get the shots.”

\-----

Jemma figures there’s a 50% chance Fitz will show up late and a 50% chance that he won’t show up at all, so it’s a shock to find him waiting for her outside of the restaurant when she arrives with her parents. He doesn’t see her at first, too busy looking down at his shoes and fidgeting with the cuffs of the button-down shirt he’s wearing under a blue knit sweater. He actually looks kind of...handsome. Like he actually put effort into looking nice to meet her parents. And with his head tilted down like that, he looks kind of boyish and shy, very much unlike the smug and arrogant Fitz she knows. But then, as though he can feel her approaching, he looks up and and squares his shoulders back, as though he’s preparing for another argument.

Jemma hadn’t really thought at all about how she and Fitz should act around each other if they’re supposed to be dating. Should she greet him with a hug? Take his hand? But Fitz actually smiles as he watches her approach him and leans forward to give her a peck on her cheek. “Hi, Jemma,” he tells her, sounding convincingly friendly.

Jemma steps back from him and clears her throat. “Uh, Mom, Dad, this is Fitz. Erm, Leo. Fitz.”

Fitz holds out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Simmons.”

Mr. Simmons grins and shakes his hand. “The pleasure is all ours. It’s great to finally meet you.”

Mrs. Simmons throws her arms around him in an enthusiastic hug. Fitz stumbles a bit, losing his balance, his eyes widening in surprise. “We’ve heard so much about you,” she enthuses as she steps back.

“You have?” Fitz and Jemma ask simultaneously. Fitz glances at Jemma questioningly. Jemma shakes her head slightly, just as confused as he is.

“Of course,” Mrs. Simmons laughs. “You’ve been talking about him since you started uni. Let’s get seated, shall we?”

Jemma frowns as she follows her parents into the restaurant. She hasn’t been talking about Fitz as much as she’s been _complaining_ about Fitz since the day she met him. Evidently, all they heard was that he’s a single male who hovers around her immediate social circle and completely disregarded the fact that he’s the most ridiculous, competitive, know-it-all in the world.

“You’ve been talking about me,” Fitz whispers teasingly as the hostess shows them to their table.

“Shut up,” Jemma grumbles, keeping her eyes trained straight ahead.

Fitz slings his arm around her shoulders and leans closer to her, his cheek practically touching hers. “They’ve heard so much about me.”

Jemma shrugs his arm off. “All bad things, I’m sure.”

Once they’re seated, Mrs. Simmons immediately launches into updating Jemma on Elizabeth’s engagement and Anna’s newborn and Henry’s wedding, swiping through her phone to show her pictures. All the while, Jemma nudges Fitz with her elbow and raises her eyebrows pointedly, as though this is proof of her parents’ obsession with her marital status.

When Mr. Simmons excuses himself to take a phone call and Mrs. Simmons goes to the bathroom, Jemma turns to Fitz. “I told you,” she says smugly.

Fitz laughs. “That? Because they want you to know what’s going on with your cousins? That doesn’t mean anything other than that you’re clearly competitive in parts of your life that have nothing to do with work or academics.”

Jemma narrows her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Fitz shakes his head, amused. “Look, Simmons - the only reason you’re upset is because you’re used to being the first and best at everything, and now, for some reason, you think you’re coming in last.”

Jemma scoffs and turns in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring straight ahead. “That’s absurd.”

Mr. Simmons returns to his seat, takes one look at Jemma, and starts laughing. “Looks like some things don’t change. Did you get her all riled up again, Fitz?” Mr. Simmons leans towards him and says conspiratorially, “You know, I’ve been telling Jemma for years, it’s like when ten-year-old boys tug on girls’ ponytails when they like them.”

Fitz raises his eyebrows questioningly. “What’s like that?”

Mr. Simmons huffs a short laugh of surprise. “You, of course!” Mr. Simmons turns to Jemma. “Didn’t I tell you? And you kept saying, ‘No, no, you’re reading too much into it, he definitely hates me.’”

Mrs. Simmons returns to the table and, observing Jemma’s and Fitz’s red faces and general discomfort, asks, “What are we discussing?”

“Didn’t I tell her?” Mr. Simmons repeats, grinning widely at Mrs. Simmons. “I told her, ‘This boy clearly fancies you, and you wouldn’t let him bother you so much if you didn’t fancy him a little bit, too!’”

“Dad!” Jemma complains, finally finding her voice.

“Oh, don’t tease them, Robert,” Mrs. Simmons scolds lightly. “What’s important is that they eventually figured it out.” She turns to Fitz. “Though I wouldn’t mind if it didn’t take you another seven years to give me some grandchildren. Did you know that I’m the only one of my siblings who’s not a grandparent yet?”

Fitz chokes on his water a bit and glances at Jemma, and she’s sure he’s expecting her to give him that self-satisfied look she gives him whenever she’s proven right, where one eyebrow rises imperiously and the corners of her mouth turn up just a tick, but Jemma underestimated how embarrassing this would be and she would very much rather like the ground to swallow her up.

“It’ll probably take a while,” Fitz manages to say. “I’m still working on getting Jemma to remember to feed herself. She...well, I’m sure you both know what she’s like when she’s absorbed in her work.”

Jemma turns to look at Fitz, her eyebrows wrinkling over her widening eyes. He’s looking down at his plate, his blush spreading to the tip of his ears. She’s partly annoyed that he’s sharing this information with her parents (because do they honestly need another reason to nag her?), but also surprised that he knows this about her at all. He does stop by her lab bench every once in awhile, mostly to tease her and to brag about how his own work is progressing, but she didn’t think he ever paid attention to anything like whether she’s taking a lunch break. It’s a bit disconcerting. She shifts uneasily in her chair.

Mr. and Mrs. Simmons both laugh. “That does sound familiar,” Mrs. Simmons agrees. “I’m glad she has someone there to look out for her.”

\----------

Sunday, 2:33 PM

Simmons: I couldn’t say this in front of my parents, but I TOLD YOU.

Fitz: I still think you were exaggerating.

Simmons: My mum literally asked you for grandchildren.

Fitz: Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong, I’m saying you’re interpreting it wrong.

Simmons: THERE IS NO OTHER WAY TO INTERPRET IT.

Monday, 7:14 PM

Simmons: My dad asked for your number - not sure what for. Is it okay if I give it to him?

Fitz: Sure, go ahead. Probably has to do with the schematics we were talking about yesterday.

Simmons: Okay, but feel free to block him if he starts pressuring you to propose to me or something equally embarrassing.

Fitz: I haven’t blocked you yet, and you’ve committed infractions that are far worse.

Simmons: I can’t tell whether or not you’re joking.

Fitz: You drunk-dialed me at 2:30 in the morning to yell at me about how Settlers of Catan is just an Amish version of Risk.

Monday, 9:26 PM

Simmons: In my defence, your obsession with that game is both excessive and baffling.

\----------

On Wednesday, Fitz stops by Jemma’s lab bench on his way out. “I’m taking my lunch break,” he tells her, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the table.

“Mmhmm,” Jemma acknowledges distractedly, without taking her eyes off her computer screen.

“You should think about taking a lunch break too,” Fitz suggests.

“Yeah, I’ll take it later.”

“It’s almost two. If you take it any later, it’ll be a dinner break.”

Jemma breaks her eyes away from her computer to look up at Fitz. “Is it really?”

Fitz holds up his wrist to show her his watch. Jemma bites her lower lip and turns to look at her computer screen again, clearly at war with herself. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself.

“I’m just going to finish this first,” she says finally. “Then I’ll be at a good stopping point.”

Fitz shakes his head. “Good luck, Simmons,” he calls over his shoulder as he walks away.

Forty minutes later, Jemma has completely forgotten about lunch until she notices the turkey sandwich sitting next to her keyboard. She stands and cranes her neck, looking towards the other end of the lab. Fitz is back at his work station, focusing intently on his own project.

Jemma scowls and turns back to her computer to compose a new e-mail.

To: lfitz@scitech.org

From: jsimmons@scitech.org

Subject: sandwich

Wednesday, 2:42 PM

You didn’t have to buy me lunch.

……….

To: jsimmons@scitech.org

From: lfitz@scitech.org

Subject: RE: sandwich

Wednesday, 2:51 PM

I believe the words you’re looking for are “Thank you.”

\----------

When Bobbi and Hunter arrive at the bar, Jemma is having a perfectly pleasant conversation with Mack while pointedly ignoring Fitz. Which she wouldn’t be doing if Fitz hadn’t started ignoring her first. They arrived at the bar at the same time, and instead of greeting her, Fitz kept his eyes trained on his phone and slouched into the seat next to Mack. He’s still engrossed with his phone when Hunter and Bobbi slide into the seats next to Jemma.

Hunter grins and and reaches across the table to snatch the phone out of Fitz’s hands. “What did we talk about, Fitz? No Candy Crush at the dinner table!” he scolds mockingly.

Fitz reaches across the table. “Give it back!” he demands.

Hunter glances at his phone and frowns. “Why are you texting Mr. Simmons?”

“What?” Jemma yelps, grabbing the phone from Hunter.

Fitz groans and buries his face in his hands. “Look, _he_ texted _me_. He wants me to try to convince Simmons to go to her cousin’s wedding.”

Jemma scowls at Fitz’s phone. “An evening of getting interrogated about my love life and inactive uterus is not my idea of fun.” Her thumbs fly over the screen of Fitz’s phone.

“Hey!” Fitz protests. “What are you doing?”

Jemma raises her eyebrows at him. “I’m telling him I’m not even that close to Elizabeth anymore,” she says, as though it should be obvious.

“But he thinks I’m the one texting him!”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “I know. That’s why I wrote, ‘Jemma says she’s not even that close to Elizabeth anymore.’” She hands the phone back to Fitz.

The phone vibrates. Fitz glances at his phone. “He says it would be a nice gesture since you skipped Henry’s wedding.” The phone vibrates again. “Also, that he’ll pay for both of our train tickets.” Fitz’s eyes widen. “Both of us?”

Jemma waves her hand, as though shooing away a fly. “Yeah, your name might have been on the invitation, too.”

Fitz frowns. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Obviously, you’re not going to go if I’m not going,” Jemma points out. She wrinkles her nose. “And also, that’s beside the point because you’re not even really my boyfriend!” She pulls out her phone and starts texting. “And why are my parents texting you anyways? They met you _once_.”

Fitz’s phone vibrates again. “He says there’s a ten-course dinner.” He gapes at Jemma. “Ten courses?”

“Elizabeth’s fiance is a millionaire,” Jemma says distractedly, still focused on her phone.

Fitz glances at his phone. “And an open bar!” He looks at Jemma pleadingly. “Please take me to this wedding.”

“Tell my dad that the open bar makes it even less appealing,” Jemma demands, slamming her phone down on the table. “My relatives are difficult enough when they’re sober.”

“He’s _your_ dad!” Fitz complains. “Tell him yourself.”

Jemma’s phone vibrates, and Hunter grabs it before she can.

“Hey!” Jemma protests.

Hunter bursts out in laughter when he looks at the screen. Bobbi looks over his shoulder and starts laughing as well. “Simmons asked her parents why they’re texting you and they replied that it’s because you actually respond to their texts,” Hunter informs Fitz.

Fitz smirks at Jemma. “I’m their favorite,” he teases.

Hunter bumps his shoulder into Jemma’s. “C’mon, Simmons. Free food, free booze - what’s the problem?”

“You know the problem,” Jemma grumbles, snatching her phone back from Hunter.

“I’ll listen to you complain about all your relatives the whole night,” Fitz promises. “I’ll keep your wine glass filled. I’ll hold your purse. I’ll answer all questions about your personal life in the most sarcastic way possible. If anyone starts to get even a little bit nosy, I’ll shut it down.”

Jemma’s lips scrunch to the right side of her face. “You’ll shut it down?” she asks uncertainly.

Fitz pounds his fist on the table. “I’ll shut it down! They’ll never ask about your personal life again.

Jemma tilts her head back, looking up at the ceiling. On the one hand, it’s an evening with Fitz and all her nosy relatives. On the other hand, her parents have stopped interrogating her about her love life since their lunch with Fitz, so it’s reasonably certain that she can get the rest of her relatives to leave her alone if Fitz is at the wedding with her. Plus, Elizabeth’s fiance is cousins with Dr. Jane Foster, who is a personal hero of Jemma’s, and maybe she’ll be at the wedding as well.

“Fine,” Jemma sighs. “We’ll go to the stupid wedding.”

“Yes!” Fitz cheers, jumping to his feet as best he can in the booth. His knees jostle the table, causing their drinks to shake. He and Hunter high-five across the table.

“You’re an enabler,” Mack informs Hunter.

Bobbi sighs as she slides out of the booth. “I’ll get the shots.”

By the time Daisy arrives at the bar, Mack, Bobbi, and Hunter each have three empty shot glasses in front of them. Bobbi props her chin in her palm, using two fingers to rub at her temple, as though she has a headache. 

“He’s not an asshole!” Fitz shouts, standing at the head of the table. “He’s was trying his best, okay? God, Simmons!” He turns and storms towards the bathrooms.

Daisy furrows her brow as she watches him leave. “Who’s not an asshole?” she asks, shrugging out of her jacket.

Bobbi glances at Daisy out of the corner of her eyes and says flatly, “Dumbledore.”

Daisy sighs heavily as she looks at Jemma. “Seriously?” she asks, unimpressed.

Jemma raises her eyebrows. “Me?” she asks, offended. “What did I do? He’s the one who’s yelling at me!”

Mack looks at Hunter miserably. “Please tell me that’s not another shot.”

Hunter shakes his head. “Nope. We chug.”

Daisy nods towards the bar. “I’m gonna get a beer - looks like I have a lot of catching up to do.”

\----------

“This is getting ridiculous.”

Fitz looks up from his computer at Jemma. “What is?”

Jemma holds up the sandwich he left on her desk half an hour ago. “I’m perfectly capable of buying my own lunch, Fitz.”

Fitz leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, swiveling to face her. “That’s an interesting claim, Simmons, but I have yet to see any evidence that supports that statement.”

Jemma narrows her eyes at him. “Excuse me?”

“You say you’re capable of buying your own lunch, but I have never seen you buy your own lunch. So how am I supposed to know you’re capable of it?”

Jemma shakes her head. “So what, you’re just going to keep on buying me sandwiches until I show you I know how to buy my own lunch?” she asks in disbelief.

Fitz shrugs. “That’s the plan. Your dad _did_ ask me to make sure you’re eating.”

Jemma groans. “Can I just remind you of how bizarre it is that you text my parents more than I do?”

Fitz grins as he swivels back to face his computer. “I only text them when they text me first,” he tells her without looking away from his screen. “Also, that reflects more poorly on you than it does me. Maybe if you texted your parents more, they wouldn’t have to ask your part-time fake boyfriend for updates.”

“I don’t - don’t tell me - you don’t - ugh! You’re impossible!” Jemma huffs, turning and stalking back to her lab bench.

And she absolutely does not hear Fitz call after her, “You only say that when you know I’m right!”

The next day, when Fitz stops by her work station to inform her that he’s going to lunch, Jemma grabs her purse from her bottom drawer and follows him out.

“You’re coming?” Fitz asks, amused.

“Well, you apparently need proof that I know how to buy my own lunch,” Jemma grumbles. And when they’re at the counter of Fitz’s favorite deli, Jemma tells the cashier, “I’m getting his too,” nodding towards Fitz.

“You don’t have to do that, Simmons,” Fitz tells her, frowning.

Jemma turns to face him. “You bought me ten sandwiches, so I’m going to buy you ten sandwiches.” She grabs his paper-wrapped sandwich off the counter and hands it to him. “I don’t want to owe you anything.”

Fitz rolls his eyes as he follows her to a table by the window. “I didn’t buy you lunch so you would owe me.” He sits across from her. “You don’t.”

Jemma doesn’t look at him as she unwraps her sandwich. “Well, I’m doing it anyways.”

\----------

Jemma figured it would only take ten days of lunch with Fitz to make it up to him. But then after her third lunch with him, she doesn’t take a lunch break for two days in a row because she’s making a lot of progress on her research and doesn’t want to lose her momentum, so Fitz ends up bringing her sandwiches again, which means she’s back to owing him nine sandwiches. After a month of this pattern, Jemma is having lunch with Fitz roughly three times a week and still owes him six sandwiches.

And in the month that follows, Jemma finds that she kind of likes having lunch with Fitz. They talk about their projects and offer ideas for solutions to roadblocks. They reminisce about classes they took together and gossip about former classmates. They still argue, of course, but it’s not as contentious as it usually is.

So by the time Elizabeth’s wedding comes around, Jemma thinks that she might like it if she and Fitz could be friends. Or, at the very least, frienemies. In all honesty, after seven years, hating him is more habit than anything else.

Jemma’s parents had offered to pay for a hotel room as part of their bribe to get Jemma to come, but the train ride to the wedding is only an hour and a half long, and the venue is only five blocks from the station, so Jemma and Fitz agree that they don’t really need to stay overnight. And they honestly could have driven instead of taking the train, but - open bar.

Jemma kind of enjoys watching the ceremony. She’s glad she doesn’t have to socialize and she takes pleasure in seeing Fitz’s genuine bafflement over the sheer number of people in the wedding party.

“Fourteen bridesmaids, Simmons. And fourteen groomsmen,” Fitz whispers in her ear, leaning into her. “I don’t think we even know fourteen people put together.” 

“Adding up everyone you know and everyone I know doesn’t really do much considering the Venn diagram of people we know is essentially just a circle,” Simmons points out. It really is curious how their lives are so entangled.

The ceremony is followed by a cocktail hour and, as promised, Fitz keeps Jemma’s wine glass filled and fields all questions from nosy relatives.

“No kids yet, but we did just get a goldfish,” Fitz cheerfully tells Jemma’s cousin Anna. “His name is Finneas.”

“We’re planning to,” he tells Aunt Clara. “But we’d like to have the wedding on the anniversary of the day we met, and we have to wait for it to fall on a Saturday so everyone can come.”

“When’s your anniversary?” she asks.

“February 29.”

“You know, we’re looking,” he explains to Uncle Patrick. “But it’s so hard to find a good breakfast nook. And you know how Jemma feels about breakfast nooks.”

By the time they get to the reception, both Fitz and Jemma are pleasantly buzzed and have thrown themselves into a competition to see who can make more people feel uncomfortable by being nauseatingly romantic.

Fitz leans towards Aunt Sophie in between courses. “Have you seen any pictures of our Finneas yet?” he asks, taking his phone out of his pocket. “This is Finneas last Christmas,” he tells her, holding his phone out so she can see the picture of a goldfish that he saved from Google Images as his wallpaper. He swipes at his screen. “And this is Finneas at six months.”

“He’s very cute,” Aunt Sophie tells him politely.

“I think so,” Fitz agrees. “Probably because he takes after Jemma.”

Jemma leans her head on his shoulder. “You are just too sweet, honey bunch. Here, try this,” she urges him, all but shoving a crab puff into his mouth.

“Cupcake,” Fitz coughs, with his mouth full. “I still have three of them on my plate.”

Jemma reaches over to take his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You are so great at chewing. You are probably the most talented chewer I’ve ever seen.”

And it goes on like that throughout the night. Most of their fake couple gestures are difficult to get through without breaking out into laughter, like Fitz’s dessert-themed pet names for Jemma (midway through his mental list of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream flavors, he unthinkingly calls her Chunky Monkey, much to the horror of the other guests at the table and Jemma’s amusement) and Jemma’s increasingly ridiculous reasons to reach over with her linen napkin to wipe off Fitz’s face (“You got some drool on your eyelid, dear - let me get that for you.”)

But some of it is unexpectedly nice, too, like when Fitz hooks his arm around Jemma’s shoulders and pulls her close to kiss the top of her head or when Jemma kicks off her heels at the end of the night and rests her feet in Fitz’s lap. And Jemma probably only feels so happy and light because of all the booze, but her heart also feels full of _Fitz_ , and so at the end of the night, it’s not awkward at all to wrap her arms around Fitz from behind and rest her chin on his shoulder.

“We’d like to, but it honestly feels too soon, you know? I mean, Finneas just died - we’re still mourning. We can’t just replace him,” Fitz is telling the bartender, who looks as though he’s definitely considering getting another job.

“We have to go if we’re going to catch our train home,” Jemma murmurs in his ear.

Fitz smiles and covers her hands with his, holding her arms in place around him, absently rubbing his thumb over her fingers. “Did you already say goodbye to everyone?”

“Mmhmm,” Jemma hums sleepily. She keeps her arms around him as Fitz turns and starts walking towards the door, awkwardly stepping on his heels as she tries to walk behind him without letting go.

“Are we walking like this the whole way there?” Fitz asks, amused.

“Yup.”

She gives up after a block and half, then switches to walking beside him, clinging onto his arm with both of hers the rest of the way to the train station. They spend the train ride home leaning on each other, occasionally making cat noises when they want to talk to each other but can’t think of any words to say, then share a cab home with Fitz’s head in Jemma’s lap while she leans her head against the window.

They’re only about five minutes away from their apartment complex when Fitz responds to Jemma’s meow with, “I really do wish we had a goldfish, Simmons.”

“Then get a goldfish.”

“No, but I really want a goldfish with you, you know? That’s the dream, isn’t it? House with a white picket fence, 2.5 goldfish?”

Jemma thinks about it for a moment. “Houses with white picket fences are aesthetically pleasing,” she agrees. “But they’re not usually in walking distance to coffee and Vietnamese food. I don’t think I could leave the city - I’ve been spoiled by the full array of delivery options.”

“Okay, we’ll stay in the city,” Fitz concedes. “But can we still have goldfish?”

“Sure, Fitz,” Jemma says absently, petting his hair. “We can have goldfish.”

\----------

It makes sense to start carpooling to work, since they live in the same building and are starting to get along a little better.

And since they drive home together, it makes sense to start hanging out afterwards in Hunter’s and Fitz’s apartment, eating takeaway and trash-talking each other while playing Mario Kart. 

And when Bobbi is over at Hunter’s, it makes sense for Fitz to go to Jemma’s - just to give Hunter and Bobbi some privacy, of course. And while Jemma and Bobbi don’t have any video games, they do have subscriptions to both Netflix and Amazon Prime, which provides less opportunities for trash-talking, but still provides ample opportunity for arguing.

Which is what they’re doing when Bobbi walks through the door on Wednesday night.

“That’s so heteronormative!” Fitz shouts. “You can’t know that for sure! Like females can’t wear overalls?”

“Okay, well let’s look at their names.” Jemma leans forward from her seat next to him on the couch and starts ticking off her fingers. “Kevin, Stuart, Bob…”

Fitz gestures towards Bobbi. “May I present to you: a female Bob.”

Bobbi shakes her head as she opens the fridge. “I can’t believe you have three Ph.D.s between the two of you.”

“I don’t see what’s so ridiculous about the assumption that Minions reproduce asexually,” Jemma argues. “If anyone’s ridiculous, it’s Fitz. He’s the one sexualizing sentient Twinkies.”

Fitz holds up his hands. “I’m not sexualizing them - all I’m saying is that they’re not necessarily all male.” He drains the last of his beer and stands up. “And on that note, I better get going.”

Jemma stretches her leg across the couch to kick the back of his knee. “You just want the last word,” she accuses.

Fitz sticks out his tongue at her. “Like you don’t?” Fitz says, walking backwards towards the door. “‘Night, Simmons.” He nods pointedly at Bobbi. “ _Bob _.”__

Jemma rolls her eyes as Fitz closes the door behind him, then stands to collect their empty beer bottles and takeaway containers. “He thinks he’s so clever,” she grumbles good-naturedly to Bobbi, unable to keep her smile off her face.

Bobbi leans against the kitchen counter, watching Jemma closely. “So when do you think you’ll promote him from part-time fake boyfriend to full-time real boyfriend?” she asks casually.

Jemma scoffs. She’s pretty sure the jolt in her stomach was just nausea. “You’re hilarious, Bobbi.”

“He’s gone with you to three lunches with your parents, your cousin’s wedding, and your grandma’s 80th birthday party, and he seemed to genuinely enjoy it,” Bobbi points out. “It’s weird.”

Jemma dumps the cardboard takeaway containers in the trash bin. “Well, you know Fitz. Anything for free food. Probably less pressure for him, since we’re not really dating.” Though ironically, there really is no reason for him to be nervous. Her parents love him, and he knows it. Jemma’s pretty sure part of why he loves going to family events is because he finds it hilarious that her parents’ parting words to Jemma always include an admonishment to be nicer to Fitz.

“Okay, but this thing you two are doing? It’s not a thing that normal people do,” Bobbi insists. “You’re like the living embodiment of a two-star Matthew McConaughey movie.”

Jemma shrugs. “Well, if it’s good enough for Matthew McConaughey, it’s good enough for me.”

\----------

It’s not that Jemma _enjoys_ embarrassing Fitz. But she does find herself breaking into a wide and stupid grin whenever he gets adorably flustered, ducking his head down to hide the flush spreading across his cheeks and rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. It almost always happens when someone pays him a compliment, which Jemma can’t help but find endearing.

So maybe that’s why when Jemma’s approaching her favorite cafe and sees Fitz walking out the door with his mum (who she recognizes from that time she was scrolling through his photos on his phone - _with his permission_ , of course, she’s not a stalker), she impulsively runs up to him and kisses him on the cheek.

“Hey stranger,” Jemma greets him, grinning broadly, her voice light and playful. “Fancy running into you here.” She doesn’t see his reaction because she immediately turns her attention to Mrs. Fitz. “Hi, I’m Jemma,” she introduces herself, holding out her other hand. “Fitz’s girlfriend.”

Mrs. Fitz’s expression turns from shock to confusion to delight in the space of two seconds. “Jemma!” she exclaims. “What a wonderful surprise!” She turns to Fitz. “You didn’t tell me -”

“Mum, don’t!” Fitz groans, bringing one hand up to cover his eyes, as though he can’t bear to look.

“- finally worked up the courage to tell her!”

Jemma will think later, in hindsight, that she probably should have guessed what Fitz’s mum meant from context clues, but in that moment, the answer is so outside the realm of possibility that she reflexively asks, “Tell me what?”

Mrs. Fitz raises her eyebrows. “How much he fancies you, of course!”

Jemma’s breath catches, her chest clenching as though her heart has actually stopped beating. She turns to look at Fitz, who’s dragging his palm down his face. 

“Yup, that’s true,” he croaks, his voice strained. “I definitely told her that.” He’s looking down at his shoes, refusing to look at Jemma. She’s seen him look embarrassed before, but he looks mortified, every cell of his body on edge, like he’s going to cut and run at any moment.

“I mean, you should have heard him on the first day of school,” Mrs. Fitz goes on. “He couldn’t stop talking about the brilliant girl in his -”

“Mum!” Fitz interrupts, grabbing her arm. “We’re going to be late for the movie!”

Mrs. Fitz reaches out and takes Jemma’s hand. “Why don’t you come with us?”

Jemma barely hears Mrs. Fitz’s invitation. All she can think is that Mrs. Fitz must be mistaken. There’s no way that Fitz fancies her. He hates her. Just like she hates him.

Though when she thinks about it, hate is a strong word. Sure, they fight, but would they continue gravitating towards each other if they really disliked each other so much? Would they be able to make each other laugh? Would they go out of their way to spend time with each other?

“She can’t,” Fitz says quickly. “She’s busy with...that...thing.” He looks pleadingly at her. “Right, Jemma?”

For the first time ever, Jemma has no desire to disagree with Fitz. She nods dumbly. “Uh, right. I have that thing.” She forces a smile on her face and turns to Mrs. Fitz. “Have a good time. I know Fitz has really been looking forward to spending time with you.”

Jemma watches as Fitz practically pulls Mrs. Fitz down the sidewalk with him. 

She somehow manages to resist the urge to text or call Fitz to ask him what _that _was all about and whether it’s true and whether he’s upset with her and whether they could talk about it to make sure that they’ll be okay, which means she’s just obsessing about it by herself all day ( _always_ a bad idea), so by the time she meets with her friends at the bar, she’s spiraled into quickly shifting flashes of panic, excitement, anticipation, and denial. But yeah, panic. Mostly panic. It’s like the dance floor of a coked-up Euro-trash discotheque in her head.__

“You know what’s troubling?” Hunter asks later that evening as Jemma studiously avoids looking at Fitz, who’s sitting across the table.

“That you’re going to a My Little Pony convention next week?” Mack asks dryly.

“The fact that you’ve been wearing the same underwear for the past four days?” Bobbi suggests.

Daisy wrinkles her nose. “That Bobbi is still willing to sleep with you despite the fact you’ve been wearing the same underwear for the past four days?”

Hunter rolls his eyes. “Okay, that’s valid, but also - that we’ve been here for an hour and a half and I’m still painfully sober.” He turns to Fitz. “What’s with you two?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Fitz shrugs, focusing intently on his beer.

“Hey, you’re right,” Daisy realizes, turning to look at Hunter. She narrows her eyes at Fitz and Jemma. “You’ve barely said a word all night.”

“Maybe I’m focusing on being a good listener,” Jemma says defensively. “As friends do.” 

“Usually, the mere mention of My Little Pony would start off an argument about what Mack’s cutie mark would be or the relative merits of Rainbow Dash versus Shutterfly.”

“Fluttershy,” Jemma and Hunter correct simultaneously.

Fitz, who has been fidgeting in his seat all night, jumps out of his seat. “I’m going to get another drink,” he announces loudly. “Anyone want anything? No? Good.”

Jemma watches as Fitz makes his way to the bar. “Me too,” she tells the others, and follows him. 

Fitz is leaning against the bar when she gets there, his hands clasped and forearms resting on the edge. Jemma imitates his stance and sneaks a glance at his face. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Fitz mutters without looking at her.

Jemma regrets immensely that she’s made things weird between them. She shouldn’t have interrupted his day with his mum and she really shouldn’t have introduced herself as his girlfriend. It was okay for them to pretend with her parents because they’d previously agreed on it, but it’s not like they’ve ever done it outside of that context. She knows he’s close to his mum, and she doesn’t want him to think that she was trying to embarrass him in front of her. The only thing she can do now is try to fix it. “How was your day with your mum?” Jemma asks.

Fitz scratches the back of his head. “Fine.”

Jemma sighs and turns her body towards him. “Look, Fitz - I’m sorry I -”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Fitz interrupts quickly and a bit too loudly. 

Jemma frowns and hesitantly reaches out to touch his arm. “I just don’t want you to think I-”

“I know.” Fitz pulls his arm away from her. “Of course I know, Simmons.”

Jemma tries her best to read his face, though he’s very pointedly not looking at her. “So...we’re okay?” she asks, unsure.

Fitz nods his thanks at the bartender as he takes his beer. “Sure. We’re completely normal. Nothing has to change.”

Jemma ignores the ache in her chest that feels eerily similar to disappointment.

\--------

“You were being a bit harsh with Fitz last night,” Daisy informs Jemma over brunch the next day.

“What? I was being perfectly polite!” Jemma protests. 

“Exactly! And it hurt his feelings!” Daisy takes a break from cutting her waffle to emphasize this by pointing her knife in Jemma’s direction, before apparently thinking better of it and putting it down on her plate. “Seriously, what changed?”

Jemma bites her lip. She knows Daisy just meant this weekend, but really, things have been changing for a few months now. Not just the amount of time she and Fitz have been spending together or how much she knows _about_ him, but the way she knows _him_. Knows his humor and his moods and his mind and his heart. But those changes hadn’t really resulted in any observable changes in behavior, at least the kind that Daisy’s asking about, so she sticks to the answer that she knows Daisy’s looking for. “Fitz’s mum said that he’s liked me for as long as he’s known me.”

Daisy furrows her brow, confused. “Okay? So what’s the problem?”

Jemma shakes her head. “No, I mean he _likes me_ likes me.”

Daisy smiles and gives her a pitying look. “I’m sorry, but is this supposed to be news?”

Jemma’s eyes widen. “Of course it’s news! How long have _you_ known?”

“Since always! It’s so obvious! Have you seen the way he looks at you? Plus, the two of you are constantly flirting -”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jemma scoffs, looking down at her plate. “We’re always fighting.”

Daisy rolls her eyes. “You’re nerd flirting because you both are giant nerds. Also, you’re both idiots. I still don’t see what the problem is.”

“The problem is that he likes me,” Jemma mutters, prodding at her veggie scramble. “And now I don’t know what to do.”

Daisy shrugs. “Easy. You knock on his door and tell him you want to make out with him.”

“Why do I talk to you?” Jemma groans. “You give terrible advice.”

“Because your only other option is Bobbi and she’s dating Hunter, which means that she makes terrible life choices” Daisy reminds her.

Jemma puts her fork down and sighs heavily, looking up at Daisy. “It doesn’t even matter whether I want to make out with him or not because I embarrassed him in front of his mum and now he hates me. You saw him last night. And I tried to apologize, but he just cut me off and said he just wants things to stay the same between us.”

Daisy grins. “I’m sorry - I know you just listed a bunch of excuses, but all I heard was you finally admitting that you want to make out with him.”

“That’s not what I-”

“Look,” Daisy interrupts before Jemma can argue any further. “I guarantee you he probably just assumed you were going to reject him and he didn’t want to make things awkward - not when he finally got you to stop hating him.”

“I never hated him,” Jemma protests. “Not _really_.”

Because the thing is, even though they argue all the time, she can’t really say he’s always _wrong_. He can’t be. He’s the smartest person she knows. And she knows that sometimes she sticks to an argument only because she’s too stubborn to admit that she doesn’t really have a strong opinion about it either way - she just likes to argue with him.

Because when she’s arguing with him, it means that she’s talking to him, and she likes talking to him. He might be the most fascinating person she knows. She likes that he has strong opinions and that he’s unashamedly passionate about his interests. She likes how he doesn’t tell her that she places too much importance on her work because he knows what it’s like to have an insatiable curiosity and to need a sense of purpose. And when she isn’t taking care of herself, he takes care of her, even though he pretends like he thinks it’s this huge inconvenience the whole time.

And she trusts him. Trusts him to help her with her work, trusts him to tell her when she’s wrong, trusts him to have her back when it really, truly matters.

And if she’s honest with herself, she might even -

“Oh,” Jemma gasps softly to herself. 

“I’m telling you,” Daisy says, her mouth full of waffle. “Just tell him you want to have his babies. He’ll be ecstatic.”

\-------

“You’ve already changed into your pyjamas?” Jemma blurts out when Fitz opens his door that evening. “It’s not even eight yet.”

Fitz glances down at his white t-shirt and plaid pyjama pants. He rubs the back of her neck and gives Jemma a sheepish smile. “That’s funny - it’s like you think I ever changed out of my pyjamas.”

Jemma can’t help rolling her eyes. “Have you left your flat at all today?”

Fitz shrugs. “Skyrim’s not going to play itself.” He hesitates. “You wanna play Mario Kart?”

“I brought you something,” Jemma announces at the same time, shoving a gift bag into his arms.

Fitz holds onto it carefully, like it’s a live grenade. “It’s not my birthday.”

“I know.” Jemma tucks her hair behind her ear, and tries her best to meet his gaze. “Just open it.”

Fitz sinks his hand under the cloud of tissue paper and pulls out a package. “Goldfish crackers?” He looks at Jemma questioningly. Jemma just nods. Fitz opens the package and pops a couple crackers in his mouth. “Uh, thanks, Simmons.”

Jemma looks at him expectantly. Fitz frowns. “Am I missing something? I feel like I’m missing something.” He looks down at the crackers, then holds it out to Jemma. “I’m supposed to be sharing, aren’t I.”

“I was going to get you a real one,” Jemma tells him, the words rushing out of her. “A goldfish, I mean. For us to share. Because you said...anyways. But it’s hard to share a pet when we don’t live together - I mean, how do we work out custody? Is it 50-50? Does it spend weekdays with you and weekends with me? And who does it spend all major holidays with? And I figured a custody dispute might get kind of contentious, and I didn’t want it to be like we’re divorced when we haven’t even gotten married yet, so -”

“Yet?” Fitz interrupts, smiling. Jemma can’t even feel embarrassed about the way she’s been rambling on, saying absolute nonsense about goldfish. Not when he looking at her with so much fondness and happiness.

Jemma shrugs. She’s trying her best to seem nonchalant, but it’s really difficult. Her smile is so wide it might break her face. “Well, that’s the dream, right? Get married, have 2.5 goldfish - but I draw the line at the white picket -”

Fitz drops the bag of goldfish and steps out of the doorway and into Jemma’s space, cupping her face in his hands and pressing his lips to hers. She brings her hands up to wrap her fingers around his wrists, holding him in place as she deepens the kiss.

On the rare occasions Jemma had allowed herself to think about what it would be like to kiss Fitz, she assumed it would be kind of contentious, the two of them fighting for dominance, the way they fight all the time. But really, if she thinks about it, their fighting was never _really_ fighting. 

So in that sense, their kiss really is an extension of their other interactions - a spirited back-and-forth, an easy understanding, teasing and playful.

Fitz pulls away and rests his forehead on hers. “Your dad was kind of right,” he confesses, letting his hands fall to her shoulders and slide down her arms. “About me being like a boy pulling on pigtails. When we were in school together, I didn’t know how to get you to notice me - and then I realized that contradicting you was the easiest way to get you to talk to me.”

Jemma wraps her arms around his neck. “You’re an idiot,” she says affectionately.

Fitz nuzzles her temple. “I’m _your_ idiot,” he corrects her.

Jemma laughs and leans forward, pushing him lightly back into his flat. “Let’s go inside.”

“To make out?” Fitz asks hopefully, his eyes lighting up.

“Of course.” Jemma grins at him. “But first, I’m going to kick your ass at Mario Kart.”

**Author's Note:**

> What WOULD Mack's cutie mark be? Inquiring minds want to know. Drop me a line and if I like your suggestion, I'll work it into my next story.
> 
> As always, comments and feedback make my day.
> 
> And feel free to say hi to me on Tumblr! I'm Lalallicat over there.


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